Some miscellaneous images

Mime?

Phantom

Dinner

High rollin'

Cool purchase; they're made of lead!

Things we love: The Victoria and Albert Museum

Flat

From the archive; for, and of Caitlin Rory Duncan Miller, all grown-up; 6/21/89

Sunday, January 15, 2012: I to 1^st ward, where my high council companion goes way over time, forcing me to cut my Japanese golfer joke.  The lads go to the old folks home, where Matt gives a nice talk about prayer.  I really like his writing, which is bold and confident, which features some fun flourishes, and is informed by simple, sincere conviction.  After that we all of us go to church, minus the absent, gallivanting Mum.  I was conscious and proud of that long bench. Ironically, this same gallivanting Mum gets sustained as the new ward Relief Society president.  Bishop John presents the names, and good old Caitlin stands up, in proxy, for her mother.  There am laughs, and confusion, in equal measure.  Helen Miner, using her Katharine Hepburn voice: “Am I mistaken, or did our Bishop just call your daughter as the new Relief Society president?!” 

Friday, February 3, 2012: Claire is up at Emilie’s, sleeping over.  We take the boys to the church for their winter camp out.  Matt is willing.  Spence is a-flutter.  What else is new?  We call Drew, who is going with Mary to Café Rio and a hockey game.  Sarah didn’t come down.  Caitlin is married.  We don’t have any kids!  We go to Ginger’s Café and eat several wholesome things.  They were okay.  I felt the lack of salt quite keenly. 


Sunday, April 1, 2012: Caitlin sends me a post about the care and keeping of introverts.   What does this have to do with me?

Sunday, May 27: Fish again.  I love it.  Matt and Claire don’t.  Caitlin calls, and we have a terrific talk.  She’s been out fishing with Zebbie and Julie and Richard and a couple of Colton’s brothers.  She’s had steak three times this week.  They got some furniture.  Sounds pretty great, and she sounds quite happy.

Wednesday, May 30: I think about the lack of Caitlin in our lives these days.  It’s not at all a matter of out of sight, out of mind.  But out of range does mean out of the loop, at least as far as the things we do and record.  I guess it’s like the beach, as per Grandpa A.: it’s time for Caitlin to start recording and living her own family life, about which we’ll be most and always interested.

 

Flight to London

JFK

Long line to the Customs man

We're out!

Our best birthday wishes to Sarah Duncan, who is a good person...

This may seem to be a film about Claire.  Beneath the surface, and between the lines, it is really a film about Sarah.  The quick, sharp intelligence is not here, nor the almost awesome industriousness, nor even that lithe, liquid laugh.  But before, beneath and imbuing it all, goodness...

http://abouthomemovies.org/2012/02/10/claire-tips/

(Posted at approximately 6:30 AM, London, England, June 20, 2012.)

For Father's Day? A gift from Milo...

Writing!

Notwithstanding the difficulty of carrying her and his yarn or linen at the same time, Silas took her with him in most of his journeys to the farmhouses…and little curly-headed Eppie, the weaver's child, became an object of interest at several outlying homesteads, as well as in the village. Hitherto he had been treated very much as if he had been a useful gnome or brownie—a queer and unaccountable creature, who must necessarily be looked at with wondering curiosity and repulsion, and with whom one would be glad to make all greetings and bargains as brief as possible... But now Silas met with open smiling faces and cheerful questioning, as a person whose satisfactions and difficulties could be understood. Everywhere he must sit a little and talk about the child, and words of interest were always ready for him…  

Elderly masters and mistresses, seated observantly in large kitchen arm-chairs, shook their heads over the difficulties attendant on rearing children, felt Eppie's round arms and legs, and pronounced them remarkably firm, and told Silas that, if she turned out well (which, however, there was no telling), it would be a fine thing for him to have a steady lass to do for him when he got helpless. Servant maidens were fond of carrying her out to look at the hens and chickens, or to see if any cherries could be shaken down in the orchard; and the small boys and girls approached her slowly, with cautious movement and steady gaze, like little dogs face to face with one of their own kind, till attraction had reached the point at which the soft lips were put out for a kiss. No child was afraid of approaching Silas when Eppie was near him: there was no repulsion around him now, either for young or old; for the little child had come to link him once more with the whole world. There was love between him and the child that blent them into one, and there was love between the child and the world—from men and women with parental looks and tones, to the red lady-birds and the round pebbles.

Silas began now to think of Raveloe life entirely in relation to Eppie: she must have everything that was a good in Raveloe… The disposition to hoard had been utterly crushed at the very first by the loss of his long-stored gold: the coins he earned afterwards seemed as irrelevant as stones brought to complete a house suddenly buried by an earthquake; the sense of bereavement was too heavy upon him for the old thrill of satisfaction to arise again at the touch of the newly-earned coin. And now something had come to replace his hoard which gave a growing purpose to the earnings, drawing his hope and joy continually onward beyond the money.

In old days there were angels who came and took men by the hand and led them away from the city of destruction. We see no white-winged angels now. But yet men are led away from threatening destruction: a hand is put into theirs, which leads them forth gently towards a calm and bright land, so that they look no more backward; and the hand may be a little child's.  

George Eliot, Silas Marner, 1861

Rothko, Orange and Yellow